Make 7
by CaffeineTed
Summary: 6 strangers all enter each others lives, unbeknownst to them all that the only reason for their newfound states of happiness is one manipulative man. Spuffy, Woz, Aother Take3 up, take4 in the works. It'll get interesting soon... evil laff
1. PROLOGUE: THE CHOSEN SIX

TITLE: Make 7 RATING: R SUMMARY: Six different yet similar people, all with past and present issues. Chance and a manipulative psychologist throws them into each others lives, unknown to them all. B/S, W/O, A/Other, plus other characters in the mix. R&R!  
  
PROLOGUE: THE CHOSEN SIX  
  
Rupert Giles sat at his desk to review the final drafts of his files. He glanced down at the familiar pages, cobalt eyes darting about excitedly at his genius. This project could not fail. It was a foolproof plan, a plan of which he knew the beginning and end. He couldn't wait to see what they would all do in the middle. He smiled and sighed to himself. He would be a world renowned genius. He would show the world that his theory was right. And it would all start tomorrow.  
  
PATIENT ONE:  
  
NAME: WILLOW ROSENBERG  
AGE: 23  
OCCUPATION: MEDICAL STUDENT  
MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE  
INTERESTS: PHILOSOPHY, WITCHCRAFT, COMPUTERS, LITERATURE COLLEGE: MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTION OF TECHNOLOGY  
CHOSEN FOR: INTELLIGENCE, INSECURITY, INEXPERIENCE IN  
RELATIONSHIPS AND FRIENDSHIPS, EASILY DECEIVABLE  
OTHER: WORKAHOLIC MOTHER AND FATHER; SOCIAL OUTCAST IN HIGH SCHOOL; DIFFICULTY MEETING PEOPLE IN COLLEGE; Y. SISTER DAWN KIDNAPPED 1994, CULPRIT NEVER APPREHENDED, MAIN SUSPECT  
GLORY MAXWELL, BOTH MISSING FOR 9 YEARS, PATIENT BLAMES SELF  
POTENTIAL OUTCOME: SEE FILE 26A  
  
PATIENT TWO:  
  
NAME: LIAM "ANGEL" MCCARTHY  
AGE: 27  
OCCUPATION: STOCKBROKER  
MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE  
INTERESTS: EXCERSIZE AND ATHLETICS- SPECIFICALLY TRACK AND FIELD, GUITAR, PHOTOGRAPHY  
COLLEGE: YALE  
CHOSEN FOR: BUSINESS AND NEGOTIATION SKILLS, HESITANT TOWARD LONG-TERM RELATIONSHIPS, ACTS ON IMPULSE  
OTHER: ADOPTED AFTER PARENTS ABANDONMENT; ONLY CHILD;  
PREFERS SOLITUDE TO COMPANY OF OTHERS; BAD PAST  
  
RELATIONSHIPS: DARLA LAMONTE, FIANCÉ, BROKEN OFF DUE TO AFFAIR WITH LINDSEY MCDONALD, KATE LOCKLEY, LONG TIME COLLEGE GIRLFRIEND, DUMPED AFTER JUNIOR YEAR, TERESA JAMES, HIGH SCHOOL GIRLFRIEND  
POTENTIAL OUTCOME: SEE FILE 26B  
  
PATIENT THREE:  
  
NAME: BUFFY A. SUMMERS  
AGE: 23  
OCCUPATION: FASHION MODEL/ACTRESS  
MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE  
INTERESTS: ART, DANCE, THEATER  
COLLEGE: JULIARD  
CHOSEN FOR: INSECURITY, KNOWLEDGE ON THE ARTS, DEPENDENCY ON  
OTHERS  
OTHER: CASE OF BULIMIA (1995-1997); DEATH OF MOTHER IN 2001; FATHER LEFT 1996  
POTENTIAL OUTCOME: SEE FILE 26C  
  
PATIENT FOUR:  
  
NAME: DANIEL OSBOURNE  
AGE: 26  
OCCUPATION: GUITARRIST IN LOCAL BAND DINGOES ATE MY BABY  
MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE  
INTERESTS: MUSIC- SPECIFICALLY GUITAR, PHILOSOPHY, ART  
COLLEGE: NONE  
CHOSEN FOR: STOICISM, TYPICALLY OBSERVANT BEHAVIOR, DISTANT BEHAVIOR WITH OTHERS  
OTHER: BEEN IN THERAPY FROM AGES 5-PRESENT DUE TO BELIEF IN OTHER-WORLDLY BEINGS; EXPOSURE TO DRUGS AT YOUNG AGE; O. BROTHER AND BANDMATE DEVON'S DEATH 2002  
POTENTIAL OUTCOME: SEE FILE 26D  
  
PATIENT FIVE:  
  
NAME: WILLIAM "SPIKE" GILES  
AGE: 28  
OCCUPATION: WRITER  
MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE  
INTERESTS: POETRY, LITERATURE, MUSIC, FILMS  
COLLEGE: DROPPED OUT OF STANFORD UNIVERSITY JUNIOR YEAR  
CHOSEN FOR: STRONG-WILLED AND OPINIONATED NATURE, SENSITIVITY, INABILITY TO FIND STEADY RELATIONSHIP  
OTHER: ILL MOTHER; PAST FAILURE TO GET WRITING PUBLISHED; INSINCERITY IN RELATIONSHIPS; SMOKER; DRINKING PROBLEM- REHAB TWICE  
POTENTIAL OUTCOME: SEE FILE 26E  
  
PATIENT SIX:  
  
NAME: DREA LAWRENCE  
AGE: 25  
OCCUPATION: CROSS COUNTRY, INDOOR TRACK, SPRING TRACK COACH AT LIVINGSTON HIGH SCHOOL; PERSONAL TRAINER  
MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE  
INTERESTS: EXCERSIZE- PARTICULARLY ABOVE SPORTS, DANCE, SINGING  
COLLEGE: DUKE  
CHOSEN FOR: CONSISTENT BEHAVIOR- SEE FILE, TROUBLED AND CONFUSED NATURE, ATHLETIC ABILITY  
OTHER: O. BROTHER MICHAEL SENTENCED TO LIFE IN PRISON AFTER COMMITTING MURDER; RECURRING KNEE PROBLEMS- FOR ORTHOPEDIST INFORMATION SEE FILE; ATTEMPTED SUICIDE IN HIGH SCHOOL, BEEN IN THERAPY SINCE- FOR TRANSFER FILES AND PAST RECORDS SEE FILE  
POTENTIAL OUTCOME: SEE FILE 26F  
  
FILES PROPERTY OF DR. RUPERT GILES, PhD © AUGUST 2003  
  
Rupert closed the manilla folder, satisfied with his efforts. It would all play out just how he wanted it to soon. And there was nothing those six could do a thing about it.  
  
AN: Short and crappy, I know. It'll get better once we get further into it. 


	2. MAKE 7 TAKE 1

CHAPTER TWO  
  
"Mr. McCarthy?" The intercom in Angel's office rang.  
  
"Yes, Fred?" Angel replied.  
"I just wanted to remind you about your meeting on Friday, seven o'clock, with-"  
"I remember, thank you Fred." Angel cut her off.  
"Mr. McCarthy, this is a very important-"  
"I know, Fred. Thank you." Angel swiveled in his seat to face his computer.  
"All right, Mr. McCarthy."  
Angel stared blankly at the screen, then glanced down at his rolex. Lunch break didn't start for another hour. He couldn't wait that long. He had to get out of the office. Angel stood up, straightening the tie that he hated wearing, and left the office. He walked down the busy hallways full of office cubicles and ringing telephones to his boss' office. He knocked gently on the door.  
"Come on in." He did.  
"Mr. Wilkins?" Angel inquired.  
"Ah, Liam, just who I was about to call. Come on in, have a seat." Angel shut the door behind him and sat in the chair facing his boss' desk. "Now, down to business, boy. I've been fully aware of the hours you've been putting in lately. Working overnight, only taking breaks to go get food and water, sometimes skipping meals. It's unhealthy. But your work's great." Richard Wilkins smiled at him.  
"Thank you, sir." Angel said, shifting in his seat.  
"Now, as I've just said, you've been working your tush off. It's nice to know we've got someone as dedicated as you here, but I'm afraid that you're going to burn out if you keep at it at this pace. You follow?"  
"Yeah..." Angel trailed off, wondering where this was going.  
"So, in all fairness, I'm giving you the week off."  
"What about the meeting on Friday, Mr. Wilkins?"  
"None of this Mr. Wilkins crap anymore, Liam, call me Richard." Angel barely had time to nod before Ethan jumped back into the topic. "I can get Wesley to cover for you. You need a break, boy. You don't ever take vacations. Never take any time off. Not since you've started working here for two years. It's abnormal, boy. You follow? You're taking a break for the next few days. Don't worry about anything. Just relax. Enjoy the city. Go to... oh, I don't know, the Met, or something. Or go home to your folks. I'm sure they'll be psyched to see ya. Now, go on, get your stuff and get outta here." Richard turned to the window, looking out at the beautiful view of New York. Angel stood.  
"Uh, Mr. Wil- Richard?"  
"Yes, Liam?"  
"Should I come back Monday?"  
"Yeah, yeah, of course." Richard smiled at him. "Have a nice week. Go make some friends. I know you kids are into the club scene."  
"Uh, okay, Mr. Wilkins."  
Angel left the office and headed toward his own. On the way there, he stopped by Fred's desk.  
"Yes, Mr. McCarthy?" The mousey brunette asked.  
"I've got the week off. You'll take my messages?"  
"Of course. Oh, and Mr. McCarthy?"  
"Yes Fred?"  
The secretary straightened her glasses and handed him a small piece of paper.  
"Dr. Giles called you just a moment ago."  
Angel glanced down at the paper. "Did he say what he was calling about?"  
"No, he didn't."  
"I'll give him a call."  
  
"Rupert Giles." The british voice answered the phone.  
"Hi, Dr. Giles, this is Liam McCarthy."  
"Ah, Liam. You got my message, I presume?"  
"Yeah. My secretary didn't say what it was about."  
"Yes, well, I have been canceling all my appointments for the next two months to devote my time to... other matters."  
Angel stopped as he approached his car. "What?"  
"I am going to be at several conventions and such around the country, and will not be able to meet with you for the next two months."  
"What? I mean, how am I supposed to- er, wait. No. I need someone to talk to. You don't understand!" Angel slammed his hand angrily against the BMW's window.  
"I am very sorry, Liam, but I cannot allow exceptions."  
Angel rubbed his forehead. "Well, you're my psyche, tell me exactly what I'm supposed to do about this!"  
"I suggest, Liam, that you go make some friends. Put yourself out there a little more so that you have more people to talk to than just me," Giles stated simply. Angel sighed.  
"Okay. That couldn't hurt. Thank you for calling, Dr. Giles."  
"Not a problem." Angel hung up.  
Rupert sat back in his office chair and smiled to himself as he put down the phone. "Have a nice two months."  
  
~*~  
  
Slam. Kick. Double punch. Roundhouse kick. Punch. Punch. Punch.  
"You seem on edge, D." Faith commented to her friend as she held the punching bag that was taking quite a brutal beating from Drea Lawrence's fists of fury.  
"What would make you say that, Faith?" Kick. Kick. Punch. Drea stopped her actions, panting.  
"Oh, maybe the fact that you're treating the punching bag as bad as you've treated all your exes. What's up?" Faith let go of the punching bag and handed the brunette her purple Nalgene bottle, which she took a long swallow from before responding.  
"I dunno. I just don't know what I'm gonna do without him."  
"Oh boy." Faith sighed as the two girls sat down on the bench in the back room of the Marchione Gymnasium.  
  
"I mean, I need someone to talk to. Dr. Giles can't just... take off for two months and leave me all alone."  
"You can talk to me." Faith shrugged.  
"You're a blabbermouth." Drea smiled back.  
"Very true, Dre, very true."  
A bell sounded from the back, signaling the bell from the desk out front.  
"I'll let you take this one, Dre. I'm sure a customer could sure use your bad mood to perk up their day." Faith smiled at her friend, who stood reluctantly, smoothing her hair down as she took out her hair tie.  
"How shitty do I look today?"  
"Ya look fine. And since when do you start caring what other people think about your appearance?"  
Drea shrugged. "I don't, I guess. Just don't like to look like shit."  
"Join the club. Now go make whoever that is out front do so too."  
"Fine." Drea rolled her emerald green eyes as she walked out to the front desk. "Hey, can I help you?" She asked, and looked up. Two intense brown eyes stared back at her.  
"Uh, yeah. I wanted to ask about working out here. Do I have to join to be able to do stuff, or can I just come and work out, or what?" Angel asked the girl, stammering and repeating words from his normally extensive vocabulary.  
"Oh, well, you can work with a personal trainer. Or you can join, or you can do both. Whatever's on here, really." Drea said, handing him a pamphlet and leaning her bare forearms on the countertop. Angel glanced down at the paper that the girl just handed him.  
"Thanks, well, I'll keep this in mind."  
"Yeah, whatever." Drea responded, pushing some very nasty thoughts out of her mind about Mr. Tall Dark and Gorgeous and walking over to where a chair was pushed in behind a desk. She flipped on the music button and the radio came on, playing an old Led Zeppelin tune. Faith came out the door from the back room.  
"D, cut the oldies crap. Nobody can work out to the Who."  
"For your information it's Zeppelin. Go fuck yourself." Drea joked, turning up the volume with a wicked grin on her face.  
"Dre, you know I drive st-" Faith looked at Angel, who was still standing there, observing the two girls playfully arguing. "Has she been ignoring you?" Faith asked sweetly, turning on the charm. Drea scoffed and rolled her eyes.  
"Uh, no, she's been a great help." Angel replied. This girl was pretty, but not nearly as gorgeous as the one who was fiddling with the radio. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled up into a long high ponytail that hung down to her shoulders, and her startling green eyes and long, slim legs were enough to drive him crazy.  
"OK. Well, if you need anything else, we're both here to help." Faith smiled.  
"Okay." Angel turned and started to leave, and once he was out the glass doors and onto the street, Faith pounced on Drea.  
"Was he hot or was he HOT?" She almost shouted.  
"I'll give you the fact that he was hot." Drea replied. Faith grabbed her shoulder.  
"I mean, he was totally checking you out, too!"  
"What?" Drea asked.  
"While I was trying to flirt he was checking out those legs of yours, ya little slut!" Faith laughed.  
"Calm down, Faith, he's not the first."  
"Oh, my god. If he comes back, you should totally offer to give him some PT."  
"Yeah, um, no." Drea said quickly, taking the sports jacket off the back of her chair.  
"Why not? Total hottie plus sweat equals..."  
"Stop right there. I don't want to start thinking dirty thoughts before I go to my other job." Drea said, standing and pulling on the black cross country sweat.  
"I'm not so sure you aren't thinkin em already." Faith winked.  
"Screw you."  
"Are we gonna go out tonight? Dingoes are at Triple Threat."  
"I don't think I can. You see, theres a whole lot of not having a life that I need to take care of."  
"You can not have a life any old night. Come on. Purdy please? Just show. Okay?"  
"Okay. Whatever."  
"You're the shit. Meet you there at nine?"  
"Yeah."  
  
~*~  
  
Spike sauntered down the streets of the Lower East Side, taking long strides and long puffs of his cigarette. He'd lived here for five years, and yet every single street looked exactly the same and yet, at the same time, completely different, for all five of those years. They'd been long, hard, painful ones, full of struggle for money to get to pay his mother's medical bill. And the fact that he hadn't been able to sell any of his work or get it published didn't help much either.  
He looked around at the people walking down the street. Some hurrying to get to wherever the hell they were getting off to at three thirty in the afternoon, and some were taking their time, like Spike was, just casually strolling and enjoying the exhaust filled air, car horns blaring, cell phones ringing, and people talking. He really couldn't stand the world. He hated it so much, and everyone in it. Sure, Dr. Giles was doing his best to help Spike through his mild depression, which he sort of needed, what with his mom being sick, and using his father's inheritance to pay for therapy and food and rent. But he couldn't help but notice there was some strange glint in the man's eyes every time Spike spilled a secret... Sooner or later, Spike found himself at Livingston High School. Students hanging out on the steps, waiting to be picked up, or just loitering. Different cliques stuck to themselves, but all were together as a whole. He walked past their main four story building, and walked by their fields, enclosed by chain link fences with signs and flyers for various clubs and activites roughly taped to the fence. He walked slowly, inhaling his cigarette and then blowing the smoke out of his mouth expertly, and he kept his eyes on the ground. It was this not paying attention that almost got him run over by Livingston's cross country team.  
"Move it, nicotine!" A student at the front of the crowd shouted, pushing Spike to the ground, knocking his cigarette askew.  
"Bloody hell!" Spike grumbled as the team laughed.  
"Hold up, Lions!" A female voice shouted to the group, who stopped and listened to the voice respectively, about the opposite to how they'd treated Spike. "What did I say about running over pedestrians?"  
A voice from the group shouted "Do it and run?" Sniggers were heard as Spike stood up.  
"No. I said don't do it, Marx. Team, run to the A field and give me twenty minutes of firefeet. Doyle, you call the drops."  
"Ok, Coach. Let's go, cross country!"  
The team ran into the fields through the gate, while the coach, an average height, muscular, tan brunette came over to Spike.  
"I'm sorry about my athletes. They're a little rowdy." She said to the bleach blonde.  
"S'all right." Spike shrugged. "Brats'll be brats." He lit up a cigarette, which earned him a dirty look from the brunette, as well as her taking the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it to the pavement and squishing it with her trainers. "What is it with you people? Let sleeping dogs lie!"  
"That's cancer in a box, right there. And secondhand smoke is just as bad. So have a little respect for those around you and don't smoke."  
"I'm not one of your punk-ass 'athletes', luv. I'll do what I please. I don't take orders from others. Not to mention the fact that you're a complete stranger."  
"Whatever. But don't smoke near impressionable youth."  
"'Whatever', bitch."  
"Bitch has a name."  
"Yeah, what's that?"  
"None of your business, Billy Idol."  
"Fine then, Mia Hamm."  
"Thanks for the compliment. Mia Hamm's one of the greatest athletes of our time."  
"Yeah, well, Billy Idol was one damn good singer, so sod off..." Spike paused, thinking of something to call this annoying bitchmonster. He looked at the black t-shirt she wore, on which in yellow lettering were the words: LIVINGSTON LIONS CROSS COUNTRY 2002 COACH LARSON "Larson."  
Drea furrowed her brow and looked down at her shirt. She shrugged, scoffed, and walked through the gate to where her team was doing their excersizes.  
Spike continued on his way down the street, lighting up another cigarette and mentally bitching about that obnoxious, nosy, brunette, cross country coaching bint.  
Oh, fuck, he liked her.  
  
AN: Crappy, I know, but I hope that sort of introduced Drea's character a little bit. Don't worry, Buffy, Willow, Oz and more are still a comin! I would have included them, but the chp would be reeeallly long and i havent written them yet... mite not get a chance to before the weekend due to mass amounts of homework. So I wouldn't look for an update till then. Please tell me wat u think! CAFFEINE TED 


	3. MAKE 7 TAKE 2

A/N: I realize that I marked the previous chapter as chapter two, when it's chapter one. But i'm too lazy to change it so this is the real chapter two okay? Okay.  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
Oz left the Falden Records building disappointed. Another label had turned down the Dingoes, one of the most well known local bands in Manhattan. However, they knew of the Dingoes after the lead singer's death, and their inability to find a replacement was putting quite a strain on getting signed. The lead guitarrist had pondered the thought of getting a singer many times, as well as someone who could write lyrics, but he never found anybody with the right stuff. Oz was thinking about this as he walked calmly down the streets of the business district, hands stuffed in his brown overcoat, which stood out against his blonde hair. Well, it was blonde this week. The week before had been purple, and the week before that had been black, and the week before had been a royal blue. He was a small man, and any sort of appearance that could draw some attention to the taciturn, stoic twenty six year old was good.  
He was debating the dilemma about getting a singer for tonight's gig, and seriously considered calling up Mr. Wyndham Price, the owner of Triple Threat, to cancel the Dingoes' appearance. He pulled out his cell phone and was about to dial the number for the club when his phone rang out the tune to Sweet Child of Mine, indicating that someone was calling him. Oz pressed talk to answer the phone.  
"Hey." Pause. "Oh, hey." He said when he heard the voice on the other end. "Oh." Pause. "No, I understand." Pause. "I'll be fine, thank you, Dr. Giles. Have a nice time."  
Oz felt downhearted at the news of Dr. Giles being away for two months. Therapy was a fully integrated part of his life, ever since he was a kid, and it was like breaking a bad habit to not go. He had grown used to talking things out, more than he ever would with another person, when he was in therapy. It also made him think even more about himself, and how the human mind functioned. Though he'd never been to college, philosophy and psychology had always been of great interest to him, as well as supernatural beings, witchcraft, and the guitar. What could he say, he was an easily fascinated man when it came to things out of the ordinary.  
Which was something he needed now. He was in a rut. He needed something, someone, extraordinary to come into his life to pull him out. He needed to meet someone different from anyone he'd ever encountered. It shouldn't have been too hard for him to meet someone like that, him living in New York and all, but it was hard for him. He was sort of picky. But a quiet kind of picky. He didn't like to hurt people.  
He was thinking about girls now. He decided a long time ago that he had a soft spot for those with red hair. The red heads were just so cute, fun and lively. Why couldn't he meet any redheads that filled this much needed position?  
He was thinking about redheads as he bumped into a stranger on the street. Literally. It caused the stranger's cigarette to fall from his lips, out of which also escaped a,  
"Buggering hell, is the world all of a sudden against smokers?"  
"I'm sorry, man." Oz apologized to the peroxide blonde, who merely shrugged.  
"I wasn't lookin where I was goin. S'not your fault."  
"I was just zoning out. Not paying attention."  
"I know how it is, mate." Spike looked closer at the short man's face. "You all right?"  
"What? Yeah. I just was pondering a dilemma."  
"Oh. I'm sorry, then."  
"No, it's fine."  
"Right."  
Spike started to walk away when Oz called after him. This surprised both men, due to the fact that Oz was never really one for calling out at all, much less what he did call out.  
"Do you sing?" Oz asked.  
Spike turned around and shrugged. "Lil bit. I write some poetry now an then, but I don't really sing publicly."  
"Would you mind terribly doing me and my friends a favor?"  
  
~*~  
  
So it was settled. Spike, as Oz found out he was called, would be singing for the Dingoes that night. They wouldn't be playing original stuff, but songs Spike knew, so there would not be confusion.  
Oz entered his apartment, glad that he had settled this whole singer affair. For tonight, anyway.  
After locking the door behind him, Oz tossed his keys onto the table by the door. Then he took off his coat and tossed it onto his couch.  
His apartment, like him, was simple. Living area, with a small kitchenette, tv, couch, and a bedroom and bathroom off in other rooms. The one special thing that Oz loved about his apartment was his pride and joy; his record and cd collection. Though the Dingoes had recorded their songs on demo tapes, Oz had hundreds of records and cds, lining bookcases, in boxes carefully filed alphabetically, and all of them specially protected. He loved his collection, and his two guitars more than anything else in the world. He had named his guitars Monkey and Hippo, after his two favorite animal crackers. Monkey was the acoustic, and Hippo was a bright blue and white electric guitar.  
  
Oz went to his bedroom, and went to take a nap in his bed, setting the alarm for seven o clock. He had to get to that gig. They actually could sound GOOD tonight.  
  
~*~  
  
"Uh, Amy? I don't know about this." Willow said awkwardly, twisting her hands together nervously.  
"Oh, come on! Don't you wanna have a little FUN for once? It's the weekend!" The brunette smiled at her redheaded friend, who was borrowing some of Amy's more... revealing clothes for their night out.  
"I-I'm just not sure. This shirt's a little... short. And tight. Maybe I should wear the blue-"  
"No. You look great, Willow. Now let's go get us some hotties!"  
"But-"  
"No buts. Vamos a Triple Threat."  
"I-I have homework that needs doing."  
"As I said, it's the weekend. You can think about your precious little medical school record later."  
"I guess going out could be fun."  
"Exactly." The brunette smiled triumphantly. Getting uptight, nearly friendless Willow to go clubbing was harder to do than a teleportation spell. If spells actually would work for her, that is.  
The two had met at a Wiccan group in college, and had stayed close ever since. Willow's friends were limited, but Amy, outgoing and fun-loving, was constantly introducing her to people, trying to set her up, or getting her to go to parties. They usually ended up with the same results: Willow's awkward silences, or Willow's babbling, or Willow sitting alone with a 7-Up, or Willow sitting alone with a Sprite, which Willow insisted had a difference.  
But tonight would be different. This had to work. Uncle Giles was counting on Willow hitting it off with the guitarrist of Dingoes, and from what her uncle had explained, the two should fall head over heels pretty fricken fast.  
Amy smiled as she led her friend out the door of their apartment. She didn't know what the experiment was about, or what her uncle wanted to happen, but she couldn't care less. She was getting paid, and her friend was getting laid. What could go wrong with that?  
A lot.  
  
AN: Yeah, short and bad, but I swear on my life that this next chapter will be better, I have all weekend to work on it, whereas with this I had to do it off and on with homework. So deal with it. And review. 


	4. MAKE 7 TAKE 3

CHAPTER THREE  
  
Buffy left her penthouse apartment ready to go out that night. She wasn't going with anybody, just out. She was all dressed up and ready to go, blonde hair perfectly teased and her thousand dollar outfit was well worth the cost. She was ready to go out and meet some people. People who didn't care that she was partially famous. Were there such things? Probably not. Someone would probably recognize her and ask for signed photo or something.  
That was why she was going to this club on the other side of town, the side of town where people probably would NOT recognize her. Triple threat, or something.  
  
Dr. Giles said it would be good to get to know some people who either didn't know about her modeling success or who could care less, and from what Buffy had heard, this side of town was that kind of a place.  
  
Buffy stepped out of her taxi and looked at the club. Loud, blaring rock was coming from the speakers. There was a line outside that curved around the block. Buffy headed for the end of it. This had better be worth it.  
  
~*~  
  
Faith and Drea were dancing on the crowded floor to the DJ while the Dingoes were setting up. They had requested Slipknot, and the DJ played Shadow's Fall. This was Triple Threat all right.  
After a while, they got tired and while Faith got a table Drea went to get some drinks. She tried to push her way through the crowd at the bar, and while trying to do so bumped into a tall, dark guy and made him spill his drink.  
"Oh, damn, I'm sorry." Drea said earnestly, looking down at the mess.  
"Don't worry, it's fine." She looked up to see Mr. Tall Dark and Hott from the gym that afternoon. And he looked even better than she remembered, in a black leather jacket, black t-shirt and black pants. Think of something to say, dammit! Drea thought.  
"You're the guy from the gym this afternoon, right?" She smiled softly.  
"Oh, yeah. I remember you. Led Zeppelin girl, right?" She blushed a little and glanced up at him flirtatiously. It took just about all of Angel's will to keep his cool. She was pretty, sure, but her eyes were beautiful, yet seemingly out of place with her tones. He didn't even know this girl and already he was analyzing her eyes. How pathetic and dateless have I been the last two years, Angel thought.  
"Yeah, if that's how ya wanna remember me," she shrugged. Angel decided to hell with it, just get to know her already. As friends. Yeah, as friends. He held out his hand.  
"I'm Angel."  
Drea took his hand with her own. "Drea. That's an interesting name you've got there. Have any meaning as to your character?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.  
"I don't know. Does yours?" He asked back.  
"I'm not sure. Drea means corageous. I don't know if I'm that at all." Angel decided that this girl was defenitely worth some of his time. She seemed intellectually interesting, he decided. Plus the fact that she was hot made her worth something. Maybe all his psychological problems were due to lack of sex. Maybe not. Maybe he was just lonely. Whatever he was, he thought that this one might be able to help out, whether she knew it or not. He smiled at her, wishing that he would show some self restraint and not use her.  
"So, I'm gonna get another drink, seeing as mine got spilled. Care to join me?" He asked her casually. So much for restraint. Any minute now he'd probably jump her.  
Drea looked over to where Faith was sitting, giving her a thumbs-up sign to okay the whole mess. What the hell, she thought.  
"Sure, since it's kinda my fault it got spilled in the first place," Drea smiled softly, looking up into Angel's eyes. There was no problem getting to know him as a friend. Yeah, a friend. A special friend, she smiled. She stopped. Usually these special friends didn't last long. She didn't expect any to keep up with her. Or to want to. Oh well, she thought, he's cute enough to give it a shot. Drea sighed.  
"Are you okay?" Angel asked her. All of a sudden a sad sense had washed over the girl's face.  
"Yeah." she smiled, as though none of that sadness had passed through her eyes. She was good at concealing, he noticed. He didn't like it when people hid things from him--emotions.  
"Let me get you a drink. I'd love to talk to you." Angel said to her. She smiled, and the dolor seemed to return for a brief moment, but then it was gone, hidden away in her heart. Somehow he felt that he wanted to see inside it.  
  
~*~  
  
"Have you guys seen Greg?" Oz asked the Dingoes' bassist Jay as they prepared backstage. Jay shook his head and started to warm up.  
"Nope." He replied.  
"Sorry, Oz, I dunno who you're talkin' bout." Spike replied. He had fit in well with the rest of the Dingoes, it seemed, but Greg, the drummer, had not shown up yet. Max and Jay had both arrived and gotten along with Spike fine, but the missing drummer caused some issues.  
"Forget it." Oz mumbled.  
Speak of the devil and he appears. Up walked Greg, cheery. "Hi guys. Ready to rock?"  
Glares from all but Spike cast their way towards the tall, lanky drummer.  
"What?" he asked.  
"You're late." Max said.  
"Aw, I'm always late. So, you guys had the drums set up for me right?"  
More glares. "Who're you?" Greg asked the unfamiliar face.  
"Spike. Singin for you today, mate." Spike replied.  
"Yeeah okay, Billy Idol."  
"Why does everyone call me that?" Spike mumbled, shuffling.  
"Hair." Oz said.  
"Jacket." Jay added.  
"Vibe." Greg chipped in.  
  
~*~  
  
Buffy was seated at a table by herself, looking at the scene. The live band wasn't up yet, but the DJ was blasting a heavier kind of rock than what she usually favored. She could tolerate it for a while, but she wasn't so sure that she wanted to go out on the dance floor by herself and start dancing up a storm, what with the crowds and the amps and the not having anyone to dance with. Then again, she couldn't really dance too well to this music. She saw two gorgeous brunettes dancing together, perfectly in tune to the fast paced, energy filled music.  
Everyone who wasn't involved in their own thing was watching them both, one with lighter skin, dark eyes and thick, wavy brown hair, and the other with thin, straight dark hair with a coppery tone, and bright green eyes that seemed almost unreal. The one with wavier hair was dressed a little sluttier than the other, in a tight leather pants and a dark purple, top whose hem rose just above her pierced bellybutton. The other was wearing nice dark jeans with a white muscle shirt that showed off her strong looking tan arms. Buffy looked away, slightly annoyed that guys would be giving those two girls so much attention. She would never do that, go out and just dance like she couldn't care less. She had dignity. Besides, what kinds of guys would like girls like them anyway?  
  
Buffy looked over to see the girls off the dance floor, one headed for tables and another for the bar. The one towards the bar bumped into a guy who had caught Buffy's eye as soon as she walked in, and the two started to talk, having a familiar air between them. Oh. Those guys.  
All of a sudden, as the gorgeous guy and the pretty girl had walked off towards the bar together, the band came out onstage. Buffy forgot all about the tall, dark guy in the leather jacket who walked off with the other girl. She had a new interest.  
  
AN: Yeah yeah. Stupid ending, you konw who this interest is hopefully. My only interest is that yall review. Or else you dont get no more chapters!!! 


	5. MAKE 7 TAKE 4

AN: Hi, its been a while since i've posted. ive been working on killing angelus. but i will try to post more if yall REVIEW. ahem. that was not a hint, noo way... anyway, enjoy it, don't enjoy it, lemme know. suggestions welcome, flames will be met with my FLAMETHROWER that will overpower your own. I am a dangerous teenager... see, it never gets old...  
  
CHAPTER FIVE  
  
The rich voice of the peroxide blonde singer filled the club, many eyes were on him as Willow and Amy entered the club.  
"See? Isn't this great?" Amy asked the redhead, who looked up at the stage. "Oh my god, who is that singer? He's good."  
Willow was not paying any attention to the singer. Her gaze switched directly to the short, casual looking guitarrist with blonde hair, a soft looking face, and a cute but strong looking body. He looked like a friendly, nice guy, Willow thought, a little smile creeping across her face.  
"Hey, Willow, did you hear me?" Amy asked, snapping Willow out of her hottieland.  
"Uh, no. What?"  
"I'm gonna go get us some drinks. What do you want?"  
"Um, a Coke is good." Willow said. Amy smiled and nodded, heading for the bar. She never said she couldn't put anything IN the coke.  
Amy approached the bar, where the crowd seemed to be irregularly small, due to the main populus of the club being on the dance floor or sitting listening intently to the cute blonde in the duster singing "Shadow on the Sun". She did notice a couple sitting further down the bar, the girl talking about something she didn't seem to be so happy about, the guy listening intently, with a soft, sympathetic look in his deep brown eyes. She could also see that the guy was a guy, and obviously wanted the girl, who was just plain gorgeous. Poor girl, gonna get her heart broken, Amy thought. The bartender came up to her.  
"Can I get you anything?" He asked.  
"Uh, yeah. A coke and a Corona. But, that coke," she said, lowering her voice, "juice it, but make sure that the person who's drinking it won't be able to taste the alcohol."  
"Trying to get a friend drunk?" The brown haired bartender asked, fixing the "coke".  
"Yeah, she's had a bad past few weeks, trying to cheer her up, but make sure she has a good time in the process."  
"I know what you're saying. Just be careful with this, it's pretty hard stuff." The bartender said, handing her the drink in a normal glass. His nametag read: XANDER. He popped open the cap of a Corona, and handed the drinks to Amy, who smiled and winked.  
"Thanks, Xander." She said, heading over to where Willow was watching the guitarrist. She was pretty sure that's the one her uncle pointed out, she'd better press the subject.  
"Here's your coke, Wills." She said with a sincere smile.  
"Thanks, Amy, I'll pay ya back." Willow smiled.  
  
~*~  
  
I'm melting! Buffy thought, listening to the gorgeous, silky voice singing onstage. God, he's gorgeous. Just look at that chiseled face, and oh God, he just looked at me. He's looking at me! Smile, calm down, look casual, wink? Yeah, wink.  
She did, and the singer smiled wryly, not taking his eyes off her.  
  
Staring at the loss  
Looking for a cause  
And never really sure  
Nothing but a hole  
To live without a soul  
And nothing to be learned  
  
Buffy felt as though everyone else was out of the room, and it was just this gorgeous guy dressed all in black singing. She didn't care about the words he sang, just that he was singing, and it felt like he was singing to her.  
  
And I can tell you why  
People go insane  
I can show you how  
You could do the same  
I can tell you why  
The end will never come  
I can tell you I'm  
A shadow on the sun  
  
~*~  
  
"So, what's your story?" Drea asked Angel casually when they were seated at the bar. "What kind of a person are you? Sounds like some stupid quiz you'd take online. 'what kind of a person are you'." Angel gave a little half smile and sighed.  
"I don't know. I'm 27, only child, hate my job, and since I spend all my time at my job I have very few friends. Or the ones I made just aren't around anymore. Pretty boring and pathetic." He smiled, thinking about how pathetic he really was.  
"I wouldn't say that. What's your job that you hate so much?"  
"I'm on Wall Street." Angel replied.  
Drea smiled, and nodded, eyes meeting his. "I can see why you'd hate that. I'd go without food and water for a year before I got into that crap. No offense or anything."  
"No, I hate it too. When I was twenty three, money hungry, engaged and looking for a job, it seemed like a good idea."  
"Engaged?" Drea asked surprised. "You don't seem like the type. So what happen? You break it off?"  
"Sort of, yeah. Got pretty ugly."  
"I'm sorry." Drea replied, not sorry at all, because she got him now. For a little while, anyway. Maybe. Who knows?  
"What about you? What's your story?" Angel asked, taking a sip of his drink.  
Drea sighed and laughed a little, looking down, then back up, but not really at him.  
"Well, I'm twenty five, I'm a personal trainer, but you probably already knew that. I also am a track and cross country coach at Livingston High."  
"Big on endorphins?" Angel joked.  
"Actually, kinda. I just love running, working out, anything athletic, really. But my sport is track. Long distances."  
"That's funny. I actually used to do track." Angel replied.  
"No kidding. What events?"  
"Hurdles, but I did do some long distance in high school."  
"So you did college track?"  
"Yeah."  
"What school? I'm asking this because it's a good chance we were up against each other in a meet."  
"I went to Yale."  
"Duke. I think we might have been at some meets or something against yall."  
"Small world." Angel replied.  
"You still run?" Drea asked.  
"Here and there when I get a chance. Getting older, it's getting harder."  
"Bullshit. You're twenty seven, and you look like you're in good shape. Don't even try that excuse on me. I'm a coach and a trainer, I don't let people get away with that." Good shape was an understatement, Drea thought, look at those arms of his.  
"That mean you're training me now?" Angel asked.  
"Just in confidence for the moment, yes. You seem to be one of those modest kinda guys who are like, oh, I'm not that good or whatever."  
"And you are one of those types who generously offer PR's?"  
"Twenty sixteen for a 5K. What's your point?" Drea joked.  
"You serious? That's amazing." Angel said.  
"Yeah, I'm serious." Drea replied with a little smile.  
"That's... fast. That's like, what, less than seven minute miles?"  
"Yeah, but when I run miles I run differently than when I'm running many miles."  
"Damn. So what's your mile time now?"  
"Six forty something. It varies."  
"You're fast." Angel said, intimidated.  
"You'd be surprised." Drea flirted, coy smile fitting her face as she took another sip of her drink.  
  
~*~  
  
An hour later, Willow and Amy were out on the dance floor, and Willow's eyes were still glued on that guitarrist.  
"Stare much?" Amy asked.  
"No, just like the, erm, music." Willow replied, tearing her eyes away, voice slurred after her fourth "coke".  
"He's been looking at you too. Checking you out, sexy beast." Amy joked.  
"I'm sure it was just somebody behind us." Willow said, not believing.  
"No, he was defenitely looking at you." Amy assured her. She didn't even have to lie this time. This was easy. The part that would be harder would be the getting them together. Luckily this was the second to last song the Dingoes were playing tonight, and she could get them backstage.  
  
~*~  
  
Buffy sat down, still gazing at the lead singer. He brought the mic up to his mouth.  
"This is gonna be the last song we play tonight," he announced in a British accent that, in Buffy's opinion, was to die for.  
"It's called Dumb, by Nirvana." He finished, as Oz started up the few opening chords.  
  
I'm not like them  
But I can pretend  
The sun is gone  
But I have a light  
The day is done  
But I'm having fun  
  
I think I'm dumb  
or maybe just happy  
Think I'm just happy  
my heart is broke  
But I have some glue  
help me inhale  
And mend it with you  
We'll float around  
And hang out on clouds  
Then we'll come down  
And have a hangover... have a hangover  
  
Skin the sun  
Fall asleep  
Wish away  
The soul is cheap  
Lesson learned  
Wish me luck  
Soothe the burn  
Wake me up  
  
I'm not like them  
But I can pretend  
The sun is gone  
But I have a light  
The day is done  
But I'm having fun  
  
I think I'm dumb  
  
Angel watched Drea's face zone out when the song was being played. A soft, entranced look glazed over her eyes, one of love, but one of history. She smiled a little at the last line.  
"Sorry. Favorite song." She said, taking a sip of her fifth beer.  
"Really?" Angel asked.  
"Yeah. Kurt Cobain sings it better than that gu- oh my god." She finally noticed who it was up onstage.  
"What?"  
"Oh, the singer got run over by me and my team today on our run. I gave him a little lecture about smoking cigarettes near school grounds, he didn't like it very much."  
"Well, those little singing men at Disney Land are right. It's a small world after all."  
"Yeah." Drea smiled. She was drunk. She didn't usually get tipsy, but she sure as hell was drunk now. Usually she just acted more on impulse, said what came to her mind, but she didn't get all that affected.  
Angel swallowed. He had had about seven beers by now, and was defenitely headed in the direction of wasted. He couldn't help but look at Drea's long, crossed legs, following his gaze up her slim torso, and up to her pretty, dark featured face.  
He had noticed quite a bit about the girl during his talk with her. She seemed to have quite a bit more going on in her life than she let on. Sometimes she would talk a little bit more about things, and then just retract them, saying that they weren't important. She had mentioned a lot of stuff about her family, she shared some stories about her older brother and her when they were kids, and about how much she loved her family, although she hadn't visited them since she left for college. This family issue seemed odd to him, but he didn't press it. She'd mentioned that her relationships were usually breif, that they didn't work out well when they, in her words, 'rarely went down'. He doubted it.  
The entire time he'd been talking to her, he was so focused on how unusually deep and mysterious she was. There was defenitely more than meets the eye with her, but he wanted to see it. He knew she said a lot for just a first actual conversation, but that was probably because they'd each had several beers. He wanted to be able to see her again, or even better to--  
"Oh, damn, is it already twelve thirty?" Drea asked, looking at her watch.  
Angel checked his own. "I have twelve forty five."  
"Oh, shit. I have to get home." Drea said.  
"What? It's not all that late." Angel replied, not wanting her to go.  
"It's just that my team has a meet tomorrow and I have to be at the school by ten thirty tomorrow morning to make the bus. I probably shouldn't have stayed out this late, anyway. I'm big on sleep." She explained, standing up. Angel stood also.  
"Right. I should probably head home also."  
"Oh, well, want to walk to the subway with me?" Drea offered.  
"Um, are you sure you want to take it this late? It's dangerous. Why don't we- you, why don't you get a cab?" Angel said, quickly correcting himself.  
Drea blushed, a little laughter dancing in her eyes. "Yeah, we could get a cab." She replied. She pursed her lips. "You up for it?"  
  
AN: yes, thats right. to have smut or not to have smut? that is the question. whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer outrageous-- aw, hell, just tell me if you want smut or implications of such smut. it may not be just with drea and angel... MWAhAHAHAHAHAHA ahem. ahem. sorry. too much coffee today. --emily 


	6. MAKE 7 TAKE 5

CHAPTER FIVE  
  
"Nice set, guys. Great job, Spike. You should play with us more often." Jay said, packing up his bass.  
"Oz, man. Lemme talk to you a minute." Greg told the stoic guitarrist, who nodded. The two stepped to the side.  
"What's up?" Oz asked.  
"Well, I think we should ask Spike to be a more permanent member of the Dingoes. We're lackin' a singer, he's pretty fricken good. And he writes. I think he's in."  
"So why are you talking to me?"  
"Oh come on, man! You started this group up with Devon, you call the shots. I mean, we should discuss this, right?"  
"Spike. How about you become a little more of a permanent addition to the Dingoes?" Oz shouted across the room.  
"Uh, sounds good." Spike replied.  
Oz looked back to the drummer. "Piece of cake."  
"Hey, where'd Max go?" Jay asked, looking around for the backup guitarrist.  
"That's odd. He was right here a minute ago- oh." Spike said, motioning to Max talking to a busty brunette and a petite, shy looking redhead. The redhead was silent, and kept her eyes on the floor.  
Oz's eyes widened when he saw the redhead, and a small smile spread across his face. The small, pale girl looked really nice, but also really uncomfortable. He had noticed her dancing while he was up onstage playing, and hadn't been able to tear his eyes away. Her friend casually spoke with Max, like she knew him.  
Max turned to the others. "Guys, this is Amy and her friend Wilma."  
"Willow." The redhead said softly, a little embarrased.  
"Right, Wilma. Girls, this is Oz, Jay, Greg and our new singer Spike. So, Amy, can I get you a drink?"  
Oz approached the redhead with caution.  
"Hi, I'm Oz. Sorry about Max, he's kinda drunk all the time, even without the alcohol." Willow laughed a little too hard.  
"It's okay. I-I'm Willow Rosenberg."  
"Daniel Osbourne. Oz." He explained politely, recoiling a bit at the scent of alcohol on the student's breath.  
"Nice to meet you, Ozzie." Willow giggled, holding out her hand and shaking his firmly.  
"Uh, right. You too."  
He was saved by a tap on the shoulder.  
"I'm gonna be headin' out. Here's my cell number, gimme a ring when we're gonna practice. Thanks a lot, Oz." Spike told the shorter man, slipping him a piece of paper.  
"Okay, thanks Spike. Bye."  
  
~*~  
  
Buffy looked around at the club, people still dancing on the floor. She sighed and swore to herself she'd never go clubbing again, even if she did attract a few fans begging for autographs.  
She stood up, grabbing her purse and headed for the door. Once outside, she pulled her coat around her, shivering in the cool November air. She looked at the streets, wet with rain from the previous night. She craned her neck, trying to see if there was an open taxi. She saw one about to zoom by, and raised her hand in the air.  
"Hey! Taxi!" she shouted, only to be ignored because of her height, or should we say, lack thereof, and her quiet voice. She groaned. "Taxi!" She tried again, raising her hand back up. "Ugh!" She stomped her foot.  
"Need some help gettin' a cab, pet?" A familiar, low voice asked from behind her. She turned to see the blonde hottie standing behind her, and she felt a knot all of a sudden tighten in her gut and her knees buckle.  
"Um, that'd be great, thanks." She said nervously, clutching her bag under her arm. You could never be too careful in New York. She decided to casually bring up the band-ness.  
"So, um, you were in that band, right? Dingoes ate my baby?"  
"Uh, yeah. Singer. Name's Spike." He said, extending his hand. His dark leather duster clung nicely to his biceps as he reached out that arm, Buffy noticed.  
"Buffy." She smiled weakly. This guy's eyes could suck energy out of her!  
"Well, Buffy, let's see about gettin you a cab, then."  
  
~*~  
  
Spike exited the club and walked out onto the wet pavement of the inner city street to see a petite blonde attempting (and fail miserably) to get a cab. Her shiny blonde hair reminded him of something one would see on a shampoo commercial. It lay in soft waves down her back, curling in just the right places. He saw her profile as she turned, and her cute, button nose, perfect complexion and nice hazel eyes got him entranced. Screw that bitchy track coach he'd met earlier, *this* was a hottie. And rather familiar. He'd watched her from the stage, he remembered, during 'Shadow on a Sun' by Audioslave.  
Casually he sauntered up to the girl, who stomped her food down on the pavement angrily, accompanied by a "ugh."  
"Need some help gettin' a cab, pet?" He asked softly. She turned, and Spike was blown away by the sight he saw. She was gorgeous. He saw her eyes widen a little at the sight of him, and watched her take in a shaky breath. He was grinning and patting himself on the back on the inside. 'That's it, man, keep it cool!' he told himself.  
"Um, that'd be great, thanks." She said softly. He watched her arm clamp down on her bag cautiously, and he couldn't help but laugh inside.  
"So, um, you were in that band, right? Dingoes ate my baby?" The girl asked casually, tucking a strand of that soft looking blonde hair behind one ear, staring at the ground, then flitting her eyes back to his own.  
"Uh, yeah. Singer. Name's Spike." 'Idiot! Why'd you add on that singer bit? Makes you sound conceited. Oy, bitch, checkit, I'm a singer!' Spike kicked himself on the inside, shaking her hand.  
"Buffy." She smiled.  
"Well, Buffy, let's see about gettin you a cab, then." He smiled, noticing the effect he obviously had over the petite blonde.  
"Thanks." She said again, as he stepped to the curb. He raised one arm.  
"Taxi!"  
A yellow cab pulled over to the curb. He turned and smirked at the girl, who shyly stood back.  
"There you go, luv." He said, motioning to the waiting cab, licking his lips.  
"Thank you. Nice meeting you." She said, moving towards the cab.  
'Great idea, mate. Get the girl outta the scene. Bloody perfect. At least get her number.'  
"Um, I know this is kind of stupid, and unorthodox, and I'll prolly wind up on the ground in tremendous amounts of pain, but I was wondering if I might see you sometime? Like I could maybe get your number? If no, then that's fine, I'll get out of your way, but-" Spaz much? He asked himself.  
"Uh, sure. But first, what's your real name?"  
"William Giles."  
"Buffy Summers. Where'd you get the nickname?"  
"You don't wanna know, pet." He assured her, watching her take a pen out of her pocket. She took his hand in her own two soft ones, and wrote her name and number on the back of his hand.  
He smiled down at her.  
"Thanks, luv. Mind if I give you a ring tomorrow?"  
"Not at all."  
  
~*~  
  
The cab pulled over at Drea's apartment building. Drea turned to Angel as the cab halted.  
"Uh, this is me." She said softly. He sat up.  
"Oh, right."  
The two awkwardly sat there, both of them wanting to just rush up to her apartment and fuck the other's brains out, but both of them also too shy, proud, or hesitant to make the first move. They just stared into each others eyes for a few minutes, until the cab driver turned around.  
"Will somebody just get out and pay me already?"  
They both laughed a little, and Drea pulled out a few small bills from her purse. She handed them to the driver.  
"Uh, I feel really awkward saying this, but, do you wanna come up for a few minutes?" Drea offered.  
Angel swallowed hard. It was so tempting to say yes. He hadn't gotten laid for quite some time, and this girl was obviously interested. What he didn't want was to feel like crap afterwards for taking advantage of the situation. He really liked this one, and didn't want whatever this was to be screwed up. He also didn't want to turn her down.  
  
Drea unlocked her door, stepping in, and holding the door open for Angel to walk through. She closed the door behind her.  
"Sorry the living room's a mess." She said, moving over to the coffee table where papers, a calculator, and various other things were scattered. "I'm just trying to put in averages and stats for the kids on my team." She knelt and started to organize the mess a little. She looked up to see Angel kneeling at the table, helping also.  
"Thanks, you don't have to do that." She said.  
"No problem." Angel said, looking at the papers breifly. "You coach at Livingston?"  
"Uh, yeah. Heard of it?" She asked.  
"Yeah, I had some friends going there when I was in high school. My cousin goes there. He didn't get in to the school I went to."  
"Oh really? What's his name?"  
"Connor McCarthy."  
"You're kidding! He's on my winter and spring track teams. Fall he does soccer, but, wow, that's a coincidence." Drea swallowed. She was about to sleep with one of her athletes' cousins. This could turn out to be bad. Stop yourself, get him out of here! One part of her screamed. Another scoffed, saying, 'you nuts? This guy's on fire!' and yet another snickered at the irony, knowing that nothing more than tonight was gonna happen.  
Drea and Angel finished straightening the stats.  
"That's so strange. How's he do? Hope he doesn't cause much trouble."  
"None at all, he's an angel. No pun intended. He's a great runner, actually. Almost beat the school record for the 800 meter last year and he was only a sophomore. He was like three seconds off."  
"Yeah, he mentioned that. He's also talked a lot about you, now that I think of it."  
"Really, what's he say?" Drea asked, sitting on the couch. Angel followed, smiling a little. "Oh, boy. Do I wanna know this?" She asked with a slight blushing smile.  
"He's just always saying what a great environment it is, and how you really help out a lot of the kids with issues. Like you're a second advisor for them, somebody the other runners can count on."  
"Aw, that's sweet of him."  
"Yeah. Connor's a, a good kid." Angel paused, searching for the right words. Truth was, Connor was a good kid, with straight A's, wonderful sportsmanship and athleticism, but he tended to be not so good of a guy towards his family. He and Angel got along okay, but there was always some tension because of-  
"So, anyway, um, can I get you anything?" Drea's voice broke Angel out of his moment of thought.  
"Uh, no thanks, I'm okay." She nodded, but from the narrowed, suspicous looking glance she shot him, she suspected otherwise.  
The two sat in an awkward silence for a few moments. Drea focused her eyes on the floor, and Angel focused his eyes on Drea focusing her eyes on the floor. She felt his eyes watching her. Something about this guy puzzled her, like she didn't quite know what to do. With anyone else she'd already be in bed with them by now, but Angel was just strangely different. They had talked for more than an hour and he hadn't run away screaming because she was a nutcase. He will eventually. Might as well get this over with, Drea thought.  
Drea looked up, her startling green eyes meeting Angel's deep brown, leaned forward on the couch and kissed him deeply. At first, Angel was surprised, but then again, he shouldn't have been. After all, she had invited him up to her apartment, and that was almost a universal message sending off a radar saying "fuck me". Doubt crossed his mind as her tongue snaked into his mouth.  
'Should I be taking advantage of her like this, or could it even be considered taking advantage of her if she was practically jumping me? Or wait, was she taking advantage of him? Shut up, brain, you're confusing me, Angel thought. Just concentrate on this gorgeous girl who just straddled your hips, oh holy shit that feels good...'  
*Shit, am I coming on too strong? Is this gonna be something I'm gonna regret, since it seems like I could actually get along with this guy? Is this a good idea? I mean, he's obviously liking it... but do I really want this right now? Oh, what the hell am I doing? Giving him a hard on, obviously, but should I really screw this up by doing this so soon? I mean, I just met him. He's gonna think I'm a slut. He probably already does think I'm a slut. Am I a slut? I should stop this right now before it gets out of hand... speaking of hand, his just went up the back of my shirt. He probably wants to do this, so if I stop, he'll think I'm a tease. I guess since we're rounding second, we might as well run it on home.*  
Angel pulled away from Drea's dominating mouth for a moment.  
"Are you sure?" He asked huskily as she rubbed her hips against his groin.  
"Are you?"  
  
~*~  
  
Back at Triple Threat, Amy and Max were really hitting it off. Jay and Greg had already left, leaving Oz and Willow sitting next to each other in a pretty strange conversation.  
"Did you ever wonder why the monkey is the only animal cracker with pants?" Oz asked Willow, who giggled foolishly, but in a very cute way.  
"Pfft! Noo. Why, did you?"  
"Yeah. It's always been something that bugged me. I mean, doesn't the hippo or something get jealous? I mean it's like, 'hey, I've got my hippo pride and all, how come I don't have any pants?' and the monkey goes 'I mock you with my monkey pants!' and then there's a coup in the zoo."  
This made Willow burst out in drunken and non-drunken laughter, meaning mainly that she would have laughed even if she was not drunk, but since she was in fact drunk, she laughed in a less controlled manner than when she was drunk. Which was now.  
"You're funny! And you think a lot..." Willow said, smiling, patting Oz's arm. Oz smiled. She would be so great when she wasn't drunk.  
"Thanks, Willow. You're pretty amusing yourself."  
"Pfft! Noo!" Willow exclaimed for the second time that evening. "I'm like the most boring person EVER. I mean, all I really do is study and work and stuff for med school. It's like, it! Tha's it! Just studying Willow and studying Willow, no fun Willow. Tonight's like, the only night I've been out in aaages. I'm never like this." Willow admitted bluntly.  
"I don't think that being a medical student is boring. Pretty cool on my radar."  
"Yeah, you're in a band, being a student who studies illnesses and crap is REALLY interesting compared to tours and playing the guitar and meeting interesting people..."  
"Well, I guess it's not so bad. I did meet you, after all."  
Willow smiled and blushed, no scoffing this time. The small, stoic guitarrist smiled at the redhead. 'Wonder if I should ask for her number...'  
  
AN: hehe. next chapter, next day, new verdicts. what do you want to see happen? i'll take everything into consideration... any character requests, additional info to giles' grand scheme of things, more of this, less of that, just lemme know in a review! all ya hafta do is click that little button on the bottom left of this and type in whatcha want. then click another button, and you make me happy and you get rewarded with e-cookies! (you can let me know if you want the e-cookies. when you review!) --emily 


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